


Hogwarts Will Surprise You

by ProfessorDrarry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Relationships, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hogwarts Era, M/M, Multi, Non-Canon Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 05:59:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8611888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorDrarry/pseuds/ProfessorDrarry
Summary: While we learn of magic, we must also learn of life. We must learn of love and heartache, of hurt and friendship. We must learn the flutter of a heartbeat and the pang of regret. And most of all, we must learn that Hogwarts, like life, can surprise you.





	1. Meddling, or Crookshanks has a Change of Heart

**Author's Note:**

> These will be a series of relationship drabbles from my favourite time period- Fourth year (and possibly the summer between fourth and fifth- although angsty Harry will be nowhere in sight.) Fun! Lemon! Some canon pairings, some not!
> 
> These are also open for prompts. Shoot me a message if you have a pair from this time period you want to see! 
> 
> Enjoy!

It was three in the morning on an idle Wednesday when Ron decided to give up trying to sleep. It had been two weeks since Cedric had died, almost time to go home for summer, and he was having nightmares. He suspected most people were, but something about the fact that it could have just as easily been Harry was keeping Ron up and screaming. The whole time Harry had been inside the maze, Hermione had been pacing anxiously, and he'd just kept telling her how silly he thought she was being. Harry will be fine, he'd said, over and over. That load of rubbish about students dying is all that has you freaked.

And then.

Well, the nightmares had morphed from seeing Hermione's paled features beside a Grindylow to having them attached to Harry's face covered in mud and blood, hunched over Cedric's body.

Pulling his old handmade Gryffindor quilt over his shoulders, he lurched downstairs in his slippers. The fire stoked itself happily as he hit the landing and he settled into his favourite double sized squashy armchair. He had brought the latest Cannon's weekly down with him, but he quickly abandoned his attempts to make his blurry eyes focus. He stared ahead into the crackling flames, shivering as they warmed his overtired limbs. He didn't know what to do. It was getting awfully hard to be the sidekick in this game Harry was playing. It's not like he blamed him or anything, but in these moments of exhausted despair, he felt just a tad resentful. If Voldemort was back... Well it only meant that things were going to get less predictable and more dangerous. It made his head jury, that bit of worry; thought of something happening to him. Or his family. Or Hermione. God, Hermione. That confusing adventure was going to have to be worked out soon. His brain got all wobbly and frustrated every time he tried to decide when he had stopped thinking of her as just an annoying know it all he had been saddled with. When his frustration and fury at her and her interactions with other people had begun to feel a tad like... jealousy?

Ron sighed. He didn't like thinking about his feelings. There were too many factors that made them fuddled and confusing.

Just as he settled back into blankly staring at the flames, he heard a soft padding by his feet.

"Oh. It's you, " he said gloomily. "Look can we not do this just now? I'm exhausted."

Crookshanks was now standing a foot away, frozen in motion, staring up at him with his great, yellow eyes, his squashed face tilted slightly, as though puzzled.

"Ugh. What? Have I stolen your chair? Bugger off."

Yet, as he watched, Crookshanks squared his shoulders, and leapt up onto Ron's chair beside him, squashing his humongous cat body into the small remaining space. He nestled down, and rested his chin on Ron's leg. He closed his eyes and stilled. Ron waited for the cat, who had always shown him nothing but disdain, to claw or bite or maim him in somewhere or other. He experimentally moved his leg. Nothing. The orange fur all stayed put.

"Hmfph. Whatever."

He went back to staring. He wasn't going to interrupt his exhausted inner turmoil for the mad cat. He was distracted from his angst a short time later by a loud, rumbling, sort of sound. He looked down to find that he had been absently stroking the cat, who was now purring. It felt... Sort of peaceful, calmer. Now that the stupid thing wasn't glaring at him with hatred, or attacking him for giving affection, he almost saw the appeal of the ugly, furry lump. He kept stroking the soft fur behind the cat's ears, and was only mildly startled when Crookshanks shifted his head into Ron's lap and gazed up at him, almost... Imploringly.

Feeling mental, he hesitatingly said, "Crookshanks... If I... Well, it's not like you'll say anything right?"

The cat kept staring at him, swished his tail once, then moved into Ron's lap completely, rubbing his ears against Ron's hand as he went. Settling in, he looked up at Ron again, which he took as permission to continue.

A sort of welcome invitation forming, Ron began to confide in Crookshanks. At first he felt ridiculous, talking to a cat, but soon, the bottled up things he never voiced escaped him largely against his will. All the things he avoided talking about for fear of Harry's laughter, and Hermione's exasperation. He calmly told the orange cat everything. How unsure he was, how unworthy he felt to be Harry's friend; how at times, he was positive there had been some sort of mistake. That at any second, Harry would realise that he had screwed up, and should be friends with influential, richer, more popular people. He stopped short, for some reason, of talking about Hermione. He realised this was crazy, but something about Crookshanks had always seemed more cerebral than most cats, and it felt weird. Like he was talking about Hermione behind her back to someone who would tell her.

Still, the talking actually worked, to his surprise. Unloaded and less burdened, Ron fell asleep by the fire, with Crookshanks curled up against him, for three nights. He woke up early in the morning the first two times it happened, and managed to make it back to his bed before anyone had noticed. He probably could have kept it all a secret had Hermione not gotten involved.

The third night, suspicious of her cold feet, she had gone down to see where Crookshanks was. She knew she didn't need to; he was very independent and not at all untrustworthy. But he usually stayed with her at night, and she missed him.

Padding down the spiral staircase, she had stopped short on the last step. There, by the fire, was Ron. Orange cat in his lap, petting him gently as he said, "Well, you know, remember when I told you that I didn't mean to not ask Hermione to the ball? It wasn't because of the Veela. I guess I'm just realizing now that I sort of panicked."

Hermione's heart swelled. She wondered at her life. Here was her best friend, having a heart to heart with… her cat- a cat he supposedly hated. She nearly laughed out loud as she realised that Crookshanks had done to Ron what she herself had done in first year; he had refused to go away, refused to leave Ron alone, until one day, with Ron barely noticing, they were suddenly friends.

She lingered on the stairs, not sure what to do next. If she moved, she was sure Ron would hear her. He was more alert than most people gave him credit, especially now. She stood still, frowning, deciding to just go back to bed.

"Might as well come sit, 'Mione. Crooks here and I were just contemplating what to do about Harry this summer."

Ron patted the rug beside him, and she hesitated only a moment more before going to sit beside him, tucking her slippered feet under her. He put part of his blanket over her shoulders as she shivered in the firelight, before leaning back against the couch. She scratched her cat's ears as an excuse to glance sidelong at Ron. She felt suddenly shy and slightly terrified, as though they hadn't sat like this dozens of times. Those times, though, the common room was always full of people, and Harry was usually there. The quiet and isolated warmth felt intimate and personal now, and it shifted through them both, silently throwing them both off kilter.

"Things are a mess, aren't they? Everything is different," Ron said, sounding resigned.

"Maybe. Some things. Not everything," she didn't feel like she was making much sense, so she'd stopped talking.

"Hermione," Ron started quietly a moment later, startling her.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry about the ball."

For a moment, she didn't reply. Finally, she whispered, "It hardly matters now."

"Yeah," Ron's eyes had slid shut and he was clearly nodding off as he muttered, "but I'm still sorry."

He slept so soundly that he didn't feel Hermione shift closer, and hesitatingly doze on his shoulder. He didn't feel her get up an hour later, tuck the blanket over him and the sleeping cat, and slink back to the dormitory without making a sound.

But Crookshanks heard. He saw. He opened one eye and watched his human leave, but he didn't move. This other human wasn't really so bad, he had decided, even if it wore horrible jumpers. Besides, it made his own human smile sometimes. She didn't do that often enough anymore. He thought he had fixed things getting rid of the impostor rat-human, but the boy seemed to have stopped spending time with her again. Humans. So complicated. Still, now he was fixing things. If he just kept sitting here, listening to him prattle on about things Crookshanks didn't care about, his human would keep ending up here, cuddly and smiley. He snuggled back into her boy's lap and closed his eye.

If anyone had seen his face as he dozed again, they would have had a hard time denying that the cat was smiling a distinctly satisfied smile.


	2. Finnigan Knows His Magic

Dean was sick. Like, really sick. Like, deathbed levels of ill.

Okay. So he wasn't dying. His throat just felt like it was rising up to kill him.

It just seemed supremely unfair. Here it was, the middle of the worst summer he'd had in a long time, with only two weeks left before school started back, and he was sick in bed.

He supposed it could be worse. This flu had taken him off babysitting duty. And for the first time all summer, mother had stopped yelling at him, or attempting to bribe him into not going back to school.

It had been bad since the moment he had stepped in the door of the London flat in June. He still wished that Dumbledore had not sent that owl. He had finally realised, a few weeks later, that the headmaster had really had no choice. He had been fuming at the time, and wished he had gotten home just one hour sooner, so he could have at least intercepted the bird, and saved himself from his mother's wrath. He had read it so many times the words still rang in his head.

_Dear Guardians of Current Hogwarts Students,_

_It is my regretful duty to inform you of the events of the end of our school wide tournament this year. As a result of the actions of a few misguided dark magic supporters, there was tampering with the final task of the 'Triwizard Tournament'. These events led to the eventual kidnapping, torture, and abuse of two of our students. Most tragically, one student did not survive the ordeal._

_I inform you only so that you know that security at the school has been increased. All possible efforts to ensure the safety of our students are being made, and that the walls of Hogwarts will always be a place where we will care for our children with every power available to me._

_We will return to school, and resume full activities on 2 September. Should you have any further concerns, please do not hesitate to contact me, via Owl, Howler, Floo, or Muggle Post._

_We remain ever vigilant._

_Sincerely,_

_Professor Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, 1st Class_

_Headmaster_

His mother had lost it. She had tried to forbid him from returning. She raged and freaked out. None of this had worked out, of course, because since his acceptance letter, Mrs. Thomas had been just the tiniest bit afraid of her son. Once he had put his foot down about returning, that was pretty much the end of it. Well. Sort of.

He had had quite enough of his little brother and sister, and the house was starting to feel impossibly small. He itched for the castle grounds, for the endless winding staircases. He even missed the dorm, if that was possible. And man, did he miss Seamus. Having your best friend pissed off at you, and also in impossible and complete denial, during summer vacation really sucked. He wasn't being dramatic, he didn't think. It just really did suck.

He lay in his bed, staring at his West Ham poster, tempted to break out the last of his Pepper Imps in the vain hope that they would help his throat. He was miserable, and it was definitely not just the cold. He must have drifted off thinking about moving to his trunk, because he jolted awake an indeterminate amount of time later to the loud sound of laughter and voices in the front entrance downstairs. Very familiar laughter, and very familiar voices.

Before he even had a chance to wake up fully, he heard one voice, drawing ever closer as it stomped up the stairs.

"Nah, don't trouble yourself, Missus. I remember where it is. I'll just nip in and give it to him. Won't wake him if he's asleep."

A second later his door burst open, and Dean looked over to see Seamus standing there, his usual manic grin set firmly on his face, hair a bit mad, tanned as much as his pasty Irish skin ever got (which is to say, mostly freckled and not that much darker.)

"Alright, mate? Jesus, your mum is quite the guard. Almost had to knock her over to get up here without her following me."

"Seamus?" Dean's voice was scratchy, low, and weird, and it hurt to talk.

"Oh, yeah, sorry. Don't talk. Brought you some potion for that throat of yer's. It would seem that your Mam and my Mam have struck up some sort of friendship with that muggle Tellyferm contraption. She found out you were sick, and sent me straight away. She was not happy with me, I'll tell you," He pitched his voice high in his typical, uncanny impression of his mother. "'Your best friend, been there for you always, and you aren't even there to bring him something to make him better. You know he doesn't have access to potions.' Honestly. That woman."

Dean chuckled quietly, as much as he could, and Seamus frowned, "Better get this into you. Looks like that hurts."

He flourished a small flask at Dean, who took it and downed it in one. His experience with potions for illness had taught him that it wasn't good to dwell on the taste. This one was no exception; his mouth tasted like dung beetles, but he also immediately felt the soothing coolness in his throat, and could almost hear the swelling in his temples decrease. A pleasant warmth spread through his body and took away the goosefleshy chills that were tensing his muscles.

"Thanks," he whispered, pleased to note that it felt less horrible already.

"No worries. Budge up, mate."

Seamus had flopped, typically, straight onto Dean's double bed. Seamus had no personal space needs, felt no boundaries with others. Dean moved over obligingly, muttering "You'll get sick too."

Seamus just waved him off. The sat in what felt like uncomfortable silence for a moment, before Dean couldn't take it. He cleared his less-painful throat weakly.

"So. You haven't spoken to me all summer."

"I know."

"And now you are here, and we aren't going to talk about it."

"I.…I didn't say that. Look, I've been thinking."

"Uh oh."

"Shut it. I've been thinking. We aren't going to agree on this, right? We know that. We can have things we don't agree with. Maybe we can just…not talk about it. Seriously, mate. I can't face fifth year without you. These bloody O.W.L.s will kill me. You don't even know, living with muggles. Mam's had me revising all summer long. It's been dead awful."

"You want to 'not talk about it'? 'It' being the fact that the most evil wizard in history is likely back and gaining strength and new followers every day?"

"um...ya. 'Bout sums it up."

Dean stared at the ceiling, and thought about it for a second. Did he really care if Seamus decided to continue to delude himself? Would it really matter in the end? Harry was right; there was definitely something to be worried about, even if none of them quite knew what it was. But Dumbledore was right, too. Hogwarts was the safest place to be right now, and if Seamus was there too, then he guessed it didn't really matter if he chose to ignore the obvious. As long as he kept the 'being a dick to Potter' under control.

"Yeah, alright."

"Good. Now, I have to catch you up. Whatcha want to know first?"

"Lavender?"

"Non-existent. Haven't heard from her in weeks. Decided I don't really care; her laugh is annoying. Like _,_ very annoying."

"Wonder what that'd be like."

"Oy."

"Kidding. Cannons?"

"Dead last. As usual. It's fine. They'll have a mid-season catch up, just like always."

"West Ham is winning right now."

"I seriously don't get that game of yours, Thomas. It's so boring."

Dean laughed and turned to looked at Seamus. Which was a mistake. Because Seamus was looking at him. _Staring_ at him. They both snapped their eyes back to the ceiling, and Seamus cleared his throat. They studiously studied the poster above them for a moment. Dean searched for the next sentence he wanted to say.

"Can't wait to go back to school," he muttered quietly. "All I can think about is making them move again, like Fred and George did. But stupid underage restrictions."

Seamus laughed, "Yes, that's why the law sucks. Because you can't make your footballers on a poster move."

Dean laughed too.

"Missed you," Seamus finished.

"Missed you, too."

Dean yawned lazily, the potion continuing to make him feel drowsy and relaxed.

"So. You still like Ginny?" Seamus asked cautiously.

"Hm? Oh. Ya, course."

"Reckon this is your year, mate. She's moved on from hoping Harry notices her, I think."

"What are you on about? Course she hasn't."

"She went to the ball with Neville…"

"And you went with Lavender Brown. Your point?"

Seamus chuffed, clearly drowsy himself. This, too, was typical Seamus; asleep the moment he was comfortable, regardless of the time of day or the appropriateness of nap times. It's why he so often fell asleep beside Dean in class, arms folded on billowed robes, drooling slightly. Adorably.

Dean shook his head. Mustn't start that thought process again.

"Point is, you should give it a go. What've you got to lose, Dean-ifer?"

Seamus was almost completely asleep now. He could tell by the change in breathing, the slurred words.

He was close enough to being asleep that he didn't hear Dean whisper, "Everything."

* * *

 

When Angela Thomas entered her son's room a short time later, bringing soup, tea, and biscuits, she was not at all surprised to find her Dean and Seamus passed out, curled comfortably toward each other in sleep. She tucked a blanket around them. Other parents, those of other 14-year-olds, may have panicked at the sight of her son in bed with another boy, especially in what seemed like a normal, practised way. A boy who was supposedly her son's best friend.

But Angela knew better; she saw her own face reflected in Dean's emotions. He had no idea how he felt about Seamus…yet. Or, if he did, he had no idea what to do about it. They would have to get there in their own time. They would, she was sure of it; she was also sure it would be messy, and painful, but she also knew that when Dean finally admitted how he felt, he would give himself over entirely. It was how he was. How they both were.

In the meantime, she was just very glad to see the shaggy-haired Irish boy was back in his rightful spot, beside Dean Thomas' side, ready to make him smile, and exasperated, and take himself less seriously than Dean ever could alone. She was glad that they had figured a way around the mess that had been whatever was between them all summer.

She was glad that Dean had his light back.


	3. Neville Longbottom, You Are Worth More Than That

"Oh! Nev! This is my favourite song…last dance?"

"Course!" Neville took Ginny's extended hand and led her back onto the floor. They were both flush and out of breath, and Ginny's face was sort of shiny. She looked so happy, however, that Neville had no trouble saying, "Ginny, you look amazing."

"Oh hush. You know we both look exhausted," She hooked her hands back around his waist and spun them slowly as she sang along, " _And the Hippogriffs, they'll all fly away, Cuz the love we share, it's magic. Yes the love we share, it's just magic_."

She sighed as she dropped her head to his shoulder as the last chords rang out and the song ended. Suddenly, the lights in the dining hall brightened, and McGonagall's voice echoed in the hall, "That concludes our Yule ball. We hope you all enjoyed your evening. Please make your way to _your_ dormitories."

Neville giggled slightly at her emphasis as Ginny stood back up. He headed toward the doors of the hall, but Ginny stopped him, pulling back on his hand. He looked at her in question.

"I'm starving. We barely ate all evening, and we've been dancing for hours. What would you say to a midnight snack?"

He nodded enthusiastically over the din of the room, and followed as she turned and walked in the opposite direction of the rest of the crowd. She stopped in front of a large tapestry of three gnarled witches, looked around cautiously, then dipped behind it. He followed. She pulled open a small door and slipped through, ducking to avoid the low ceiling. He followed, straightened up, and saw that he was in the bustle of the kitchens, off to the side in a small annex. Neville laughed.

"Why would that door need to exist?"

"Dunno," Ginny smiled, shrugging, "But it's dead useful. No one ever skulks around the hall after meals…and by no one, I mean Filch. I've used it loads of times when I forget to go to the dining hall mid-day. Now, let's see."

She walked out into the wider kitchen and peered over the heads of dozens of scurrying elves.

"Winky?" She called out into the room.

"Miss Weasley!" A small squeaky voice said almost immediately, "You is supposed to be in bed."

"Yea, I know. Neville and I were wondering if you could hook us up with some ice cream instead?"

Winky looked annoyed for a fraction of a second, but looked back at Ginny before her expression softened, and she replied, "You know the way. Don't stay too late, you is going to make yourself sick."

"Okay," Ginny said seriously.

Five minutes later - with bowls laden with three flavours of ice cream, sauce, nuts, and cherries - Neville and Ginny sat on stools on the corner of the large butcher block table that took up most the annex. Neville smiled at her, and she grinned back, mischief in her eyes. He had no trouble believing she was a Weasley when she was like this; most of the time, Ginny was the most serious of them, which he suspected was the result of being the youngest, and the only girl. Suddenly, though, she would change. Deep down cheeky, and fun, and full of surprises.

She picked up her spoon, loaded it with a bite of everything, and put it in her mouth, dragging the spoon upside down across her tongue as she did so, staring at him questioningly.

"Neville.…"

"Er, yeah?"

"Thanks. For tonight. I wouldn't have gotten to go, and I had a really nice time. I've never danced so much before, except at my cousin's wedding, and that was ages ago, when I was little."

"Course," he grinned. "I had fun too. Glad you enjoyed it, though. I was worried it was going to be dead boring, and that you'd hate me."

Ginny laughed, "Not likely. I did want to ask though…"

She hesitated and looked at him straight. Ginny Weasley was not what you would call shy. Hesitation from her was never a good sign. Neville just looked at her questioningly.

"I just wondered, er, why didn't you ask who you actually wanted to go with?"

"Well, I mean, I asked Hermione, you know that I-"

"Neville. Not what I mean."

Neville avoided her gaze.

"Nev, we've been over this. You need to stop hiding from who you are. From what you want."

Neville ate a cherry.

"Neville, she will _like_ you."

"You don't know that. She's so…cool."

"Cool? Really? Neville, _I_ like you. We're friends aren't we? Are you telling me _I'm not cool._ "

He looked up and saw that mischievous grin back on her face.

"You know what I mean. I don't know why _you_ like me, either. She's not gonna go for me. I'm…a mess."

"You really aren't. You make yourself believe you are, but you're just so…good, Neville. You're inherently _good._ Why do you assume she isn't going to see that too?"

"Ugh, Gin, you're making me I wish I had never told you. Besides which, I should be asking you the exact same question."

"What- that's not…it's not…oh, hush. It isn't the same thing."

"Sure it is."

"It's not. You had the power. You were in fourth year. And the boy. Everyone expected if from you, didn't they."

" _Oh Please._ Are you going to pull the 'I'm only 13' card? And worse, the 'I'm a girl' crap? You know you don't believe that. You are a Gryffindor. And a Weasley. If you'd wanted to, you would have."

"Well, he wasn't going to go for me, was he? He's all hung up on-"

"Don't bring her into it. He has no idea why he even likes her."

Ginny looked darkly down at her ice cream, "Oh, he knows why he likes her, alright."

"He didn't take her."

"No, but he asked her."

"Doesn't matter. He almost didn't. Point to me, I think."

"It is not the same as you and Hannah."

"Yes, yes it is."

"We should make a pact. No more of this. We are both too wonderful for this ridiculousness. We need to make a change. Let's ask them, just tell them."

By the time he left twenty minutes later, Neville Frank Longbottom was sure of three things.

One, he definitely still liked Hannah. She was so kind. So easily flustered, even by him, and it was adorable. Once, last year, in Herbology, they had ended up working together, and she had knocked the trowel off the table first. It was the first time he had seen anyone get as concerned about messing up as he got, and he was immediately enamoured. Sure, it had been difficult this year, what with her immediate following of the rest of the Hufflepuff crew in their hatred for Harry. He had been unable to talk to her for some time because of it; the Hufflepuffs, after all, are sort of renowned for their loyalty. For now, no one was willing to break rank. But Neville knew better. He knew that this would pass, and that once the foreign schools left, the allegiances of Hogwarts would return. He was free, for now, to stare at her throughout Herbology, and flush intensely anytime Hannah asked for something.

Two, he had somehow managed to stay out of the Hogwarts tower until two in the morning, a feat he had never even considered attempting. He didn't feel tired. He felt thrilled, elated, terrified perhaps, but he was happier than he had been in a long time. Ginny had talked him into having more butterbeer, and even though it was as weak as ever, he was pretty sure the fuzzy floating of his eye sockets was not entirely contributable to exhaustion or dancing.

And last but not least, he was aware for sure now that Ginevra Weasley was slightly evil. She had somehow talked (well, guilted) him into agreeing to a pact that would see her telling Harry and him telling Hannah before the end of the year. They planned on dealing with what she insisted on calling the 'Situation of Pathetic Gryffindors' at the Leaving Feast. He wanted to be embarrassed, or angry, but it was at times like these that his Gryffindor shone through; for now, he just felt resolved. It may wane, and he may find himself as unwilling to ask Hannah out as ever, but for now, he was Neville Longbottom. Not bad, all-around-nice-guy, bloke of many blunders, but sweet to a fault. He would use that to his advantage.

As he swung himself into the common room silently behind Ginny, not quite making it in silently, he felt like there was a distinct possibility that his life was taking a turn. Of course, neither he nor Ginny knew exactly what direction that turn was about to go.

In this moment, though, Neville didn't give it a second thought. There were still two more tasks and finals between him and the Leaving Feast.

Neville could wait.

He could wait for the celebration.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right...it's NOT a NL/GW story. They also don't know how the tournament ends, but for this tiny moment, everything is fine. Hey! Call for prompts! Have a fourth/fifth year drabble you want written? Shoot me a prompt!


	4. That One Time with a Hufflepuff

 

He really only remembered the eyes. They were what had sunk him, after all. In general, Harry found him a bit annoying. Actually, very annoying. He'd never been a fan of needless optimism, and he'd never really been able to forgive him for the whole second year adventure- you know, telling all of Hufflepuff that Harry was Slytherin's heir. And yet. Those eyes.

Justin Finch-Fletchley.

The three names should have been his first clue. Although, really, even to this day, Harry knew very little about him. Which is why he made an excellent case for being 'just a distraction' during the beginning of fifth year. He had _hated_ that September. Dumbledore ignoring him, Sirius in a huff, Ron a Prefect, Hermione being ridiculous as usual. Plus the whole confusion about Cho- he still thought she was pretty, but she was so _sad_ all the time, crying and confused, and it made it harder for Harry to fuel his eternal crush on her. He wasn't sure what else he liked about her, even though she kept trying to talk to him, and it made it tough to keep up the act. Queue Justin and his unnaturally brown eyes, huge and puppy-like, full of open and easy to read expressions. Queue the ability to make a rash decision without consequence. Queue the thought of something _other_ than Voldemort, or the order, or Dumbledore.

The first day Justin had cornered him in the deserted corridor by the boys dungeon washroom, Harry had been startled. Nothing much had happened, but it was clear that Justin had been looking for him.

"Alright, Harry?"

"What? Oh, uh hey, alright Justin?"

"Well, you know, everything's a bit messy, isn't it? Still though. Got to muddle through. You…okay? We were just talking in the common room the other day about no one ever really saw you anymore. If you need…help. With, you know, _anything_. Just let me know."

This speech from Justin wouldn't have been out of the ordinary, had he not been leaning a little _too_ nonchalantly, back arched, knee bent, foot flat on the wall behind him. If he had not _winked_ as punctuation to his last sentence.

Harry questioned for a week why that conversation had left a weighty stone in the pit of his stomach, but was a bit too busy contemplating every other thing in his life to do anything about it. He seemed to be having a harder and harder time getting himself out of the funks he'd been falling into lately.

Clearly having decided Harry was too thick for subtlety (true, even too this day), Justin got bolder. Harry had gone back late to the change rooms after a long, drawn out Quidditch practice, to find Justin lounging on the bench.

"Listen, Harry. I feel like you and I…well, we need the same thing. You need to forget about Cho, and I need to forget about Cedric. I saw the way you looked at Oliver Wood, in his last year or so, when he suddenly got all _fit_ , I mean, even us lowly thirteen year olds were bound to notice _that_ , weren't we. I'm just saying. We need distraction, and I feel…we could very well distract _each other_."

And just like that, he found himself snogging, for the first time. Justin had, at some point during his little speech, stood up and advanced on Harry. He had to admit, it was sort of gross, that first time; he had been all sweaty from Quidditch, and things got a little squelchy. He didn't _not_ like it, but he wasn't sure it was right. And, he was extremely confused. Not to mention a bit shocked, and therefore, not very responsive as Justin attempted to kiss him into agreeing with him.

They got better at it as time went on.

Harry was always careful. Careful that he didn't end up being followed. Careful that he didn't end up going too far. And most importantly, careful not to get attached. Although, that last one wasn't too difficult; on unspoken agreement, neither boy stopped to chat before or after their bizarre, frenzied, and clandestine meetings. There was a lot of fumbling, which made Harry feel better. Clearly Justin had no idea what he was doing either. Harry spent the better part of three months utterly confused. Because in that time, he also dealt with Umbridge. And started the DA. And kissed Cho.

But it wasn't until early April that Harry started to feel like he was doing something wrong. He had stopped seeing Justin more than once every couple of weeks, and finally, he just said, "Listen. No more."

Justin had nodded, and walked out of his life again.

Years later, when he had finally and properly decided that he and Ginny were _not_ going to work, he questioned whether he had taken advantage…or worse, been taken advantage of; but all he didn't think so.

He remembered mutual meetings, intense snogging, a few over-the-pants moments of friction, but nothing else. Justin, he decided, may have been his first kiss, his first male even, but he was not his first lover. They had shamelessly used each other, both taking and not really giving, neither attempting to meet the other's need. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't exactly perfect either. All of this was confirmed for him when he'd first started sleeping with Blaise; hell, it was confirmed the first time Blaise had kissed him, in the rain, behind a bleacher. There was no comparing the two; kissing Justin had always been a bit…wrong. He'd assumed at the time that it was because he wasn't really into the whole 'kissing another boy' thing. He'd been wrong. Blaise was new and right and perfect. So, instead of beating himself up about the Justin debacle, he was too busy exploring what it felt like to kiss someone and actually want them, to feel like they knew you and cared about you, and would never, ever, keep you a secret. He didn't regret Justin, but he was glad that he hadn't worked harder to make it an actual thing. He was happy to only remember those eyes.

Stupid, stupid eyes.

-OooOOoOOoOOoOoOoOoOOoOoO-

Harry snapped back to reality and tried to remember why he had started thinking about Justin in the first place.

"Hang on!" Draco exclaimed, "Blaise wasn't your first?!"

"No?" Harry replied, looking vaguely up through one eyelid at Draco, who was reclined on a pillow at the foot at the bed, his feet resting on Harry's chest. He remembered now, the question of 'what physical thing is most important?', which had led him down memory lane.

"No, he wasn't, not technically. Didn't I tell you that?"

"Yeah, no. I feel like I would have remembered that. Huh. So Justin. Which one was he, again?"

"Um, you know, Hufflepuff…blond…big, brown eyes. Kind of…simpering?"

"Wait! Puppy-puff? The blond one who worshipped Lockhart, spoke exclusively in clichés, and was habitually _happy_ about everything?"

Harry laughed, "He wasn't that bad. He was just a bit…naive. Sort of changed a lot as time went on. Not really the point though. We didn't really talk."

"Did he _inform_ you that you were gay?"

"Uh, no, wet dreams centring around Oliver Wood sort of took care of that for me. In much the same way that _I_ took care of that for _you,"_ Harry teased, poking Draco's cheek with his sock. "I sort of can't believe we've never had this conversation…the whole 'who have you been with other than me' thing usually comes up before you have a three year old."

"I know. It's weird. I've just…never thought about it. Maybe because I knew about Blaise. Wait. Was there anyone else who was serious?"

"Nope. And Justin wasn't 'serious', either. We never even told people. What about you? Was Katie your first?"

Draco went very quiet for a moment. Harry knew what he was doing. He was trying to shut down, ignore his own feelings by being silent. Harry sighed. 

"What? What is it? Talk, Draco."

"Katie was my first…everything. My first kiss…sex…actual friend. It's weird to think about how much everything has changed."

"D. Stop. Get out of your head. Yes, lots has changed, but most of it is good. You are still friends with Katie, and now you have Audrey. And, well, me."

"I know. My lot in life has really taken a turn," Draco laughed, his dark expression disappearing again. Harry sighed and kicked him gently again. He was still getting used to these sudden turns in mood; he'd had to tone down his reckless comments in the past few years. One stupid comment had led to a two week silent treatment from the ever-stubborn Slytherin. He thought he was safe this time.

"Justin Finch Fletchley. Merlin. I hope that your ability to sleep with me means your tastes have improved. Otherwise, I feel like I should be very insulted."

"We were FIFTEEN! And Cedric had just died! Things were a little, er, tumultuous."

"Oooh, big word points."

Harry glared, "Besides, he had amazing eyes."

"Eyes. They do seem to be your weak spot."

"What? You think your eyes are worth all that and a bag of crisps?"

Draco blushed slightly and looked away. Harry was forced to once again use his foot, this time to turn Draco's head back forward so he could meet his eyes.

"Yeah, they're alright, I suppose."

Draco threw his pillow at Harry before he pounced.

"Puppy-puff. Ugh…Never again," Draco said against his lips.

"Nope. Solidly in the past….Besides, I think I'm tired of blonds."

Draco hit him in the chest with a resounding _thud_ , but proceeded to prove Harry completely wrong by snogging him sideways.

Stupid eyes.

Always sinking him at every turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its sort of Harry/Justin...but not really? That last bit has some head canon from the DimLight!Verse that may be confusing. You should read that story of mine to clear it up ;) Drabble review?


	5. Cedric Diggory: Patient, Loyal, and Unafraid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This one ended up a bit sadder (and longer) than I meant it to be, but I'm not sure Cedric/Cho can be without a bit of tragedy. I know they're tertiary characters and everything, but think about when you were 15; first love intensity is a thing. Who knows what would have happened to Cho and Cedric...maybe they made it. Maybe they broke up before school ended. But it's endlessly sad they didn't get to find out.
> 
> This is a back and forth of snippets of their year together, because I think, for all her crap, Cho was happy with Cedric. Enjoy!

 

 

Cho was getting very tired of having to avoid places at Hogwarts. Her brain was constantly full of corridors and schedules and classes and places she was not supposed to be. It was becoming abundantly clear to her that no matter what it's secrets were, the castle was really not that big.

Her friends kept telling her she was being silly, that there was really no need to keep hiding. It didn't matter what they said, though. She was sure that hiding was the only way to deal with the emotions she was constantly fighting. She was getting rather fed up with it all, frankly; she had never really been the simpering, emotional type. She stayed out of the drama that always floated around the common room, kept her arguments reasonable. She was, by all accounts, a picture perfect Ravenclaw. Rational, quick witted, mostly calm.

But lately, Quidditch was her only sanctuary. The cold wind on her face, the sharp clarity of bright blue skies on a good day, the hunt for the snitch requiring absolute focus. When she wasn't flying. She was hiding.

She refused to let stupid Harry Potter and his little crush interfere with that, even if she had to admit he was a better seeker than her. She definitely knew about Harry. It would be hard _not_ to know, what with the younger boy's face flushing at every interaction, his inability to say more than three words to her before losing his power of speech. She supposed it could be sort of sweet, in other circumstances. Currently, though, it was just painful. It was hurting her.

It had all started at the stupid World Cup. She tried desperately to remember her excitement at having won the lottery tickets. They were cheap, bad seats really, but her mam had come home with them triumphant, and Cho had never been so happy. They went to the camp ground with everyone else, and of course the match was brilliant. She had been having an amazing time. And then _he_ had appeared, all sunshine and joviality and beautiful confidence. He had offered to walk with her through the camp ground to look at all the fireworks.

_The Bulgarians aren't exactly great losers. Might be safer._

His words, the first words she remembered him ever speaking to her, though she knows that can't be quite right, since she knew his name.

Still, one simple sentence and she was lost.

-OooOoOoOoOoOooO-

Cedric hadn't been very interested in going to the World Cup. Of course, he didn't let his father know that, since he had put so much time and money into getting them tickets. He sensed that his father was finally feeling the distance he kept trying to put between them; Cedric loved his parents, but he was afraid of what was going to happen when he finished school and told them of his plans to go to America. He had been trying for months to get them used to him not being there. They were suffocating during the summer, trying to shove an entire year's worth of love into six weeks. Any seventeen year old would have been frustrated. The World Cup was just another in a series of bribes his father had offered. He barely cared about league Quidditch to begin with, but Ireland and Bulgaria? He couldn't give two knuts who won that game. Still, he put on an excited air and fixed a jovial attitude in his stride. It wasn't fair to his father otherwise.

He had to admit, the game _was_ pretty spectacular. The best flying he had ever seen, and the game was so much faster than when they played it at school. He had fun in spite of himself, and the celebration afterward was incredible. He sat with his dad outside their tent for exactly 20 minutes before leaping up; he was restless.

"Dad, can I go walk around a bit?"

"'Spose so, Ced. Just be careful. People get a bit mental in these situations. Eyes open, eh?"

"Course," he replied, beaming.

He had only gone one row when he started bumping into other Hogwarts students. Mostly, he just waved and moved on; sometimes, he stopped to chat with people he knew better, but he was too interested in seeing everything to stop for long. That is, until he froze. Two rows over from his own tent, a third of the way down, his body forced him to stop completely. She was here.

Cho Chang.

His embarrassing crush on her had worsened over months of absence, and he felt like seeing her was not going to end well. He was endlessly glad he had not told any of his mates; they would never stop ribbing him for liking a fourth year. And a Ravenclaw.

He stood for a moment, wordlessly mouthing, staring at her from a distance like a creep. Her black hair was wildly swirling in the wind, and she was turning a slow circle, watching the Irish fireworks ahead. She was wearing muggle clothes, a thing he was sure he had never seen. It's not like he ever saw her at weekends or in Hogsmeade. Here she was though, no robes, no tie. Jeans and an Ireland tee shirt, nothing fancy. She looked beautiful. Finally, he shook his head. This was stupid. He wasn't some simpering first year. He was older than her, and Cedric Diggory. That had to count for something. He willed his feet forward until he stood just in front of her.

"Cho Chang," he said, beaming.

"Er, Hi…It's Cedric right?"

He let himself go a bit red. Of course she didn't really know him; _of_ him, yes, but he was his house seeker. And a Prefect. Of course she knew of him. "Right," he replied quietly.

They stood in awkward silence for a moment, until Cedric cleared his throat and pushed on.

"Were you for Ireland?"

"Well, yeah," she started as though it was obvious. Still, she was smiling, causing his heart to hammer. "But that Krum…"

"I know. He's no Plumpton, but still," he said, chancing a mention of an alumni of her favourite team. That wasn't weird, he decided. She wore the badge everywhere. Surely people would notice. Other people. Not just the people who made it a job to study her from a distance.

"Yeah," she shyly replied, looking down.

"Don't suppose you want company? Only, those Bulgarians aren't exactly great losers. Might be safer?"

She had nodded, and they had walked. Most of that first night, they only talked Quidditch. A subject, it quickly became clear, where she was much more competent than he was. They wandered the whole camp ground, watching fireworks, joining in songs, taking offered bits of food from friends. An hour or so later, she muttered that she should probably get back, and he walked her back to her tent. He didn't want to leave, but he knew that his stupid lingering would get weird soon.

"Cho, I wonder…I was wondering if, when we get back to school, would you…do you want to go for coffee sometime?"

She had hesitated only a moment before nodding. Flustered, he had kissed her hand, which was weird. He knew it was weird. But he went with it.

"Okay, well. Goodnight then. Goodnight, Cho Chang. Until I see you again."

He'd gone back to his tent that night practically floating. He didn't even get riled when his father had gone on and on about his Quidditch strategy for the year. He barely listened when his father kept hinting that it might not matter as much as in past years, that there may be something taking up more of his time this year.

-OooOoOoOoOoOooO-

The next few weeks, as they all returned to school and resumed their ridiculous schedules, as she began working hard for her O.W.L.s, Cho had almost been able to forget the fluttering in her core as he had kissed her hand like an idiot at the end of the night. The feeling of utter confusion when he had whispered, "Goodnight, Cho Chang. Goodnight until I see you again." For a few days, the excitement of the tournament and the hectic life of fifth year had been enough.

Until that stupid goblet had spit his name out, and she had been forced to face the fact that she had a crush on him. With no real interaction, she was suddenly lusting after a sixth year. A _Hufflepuff_ for Merlin's sake. What was happening to her.

"Cedric!" She called down the corridor that day, seeing him running ahead of her. He froze immediately, like a cartoon, and spun around.

"Hi, Cho. Been wondering where you've been."

"Yes. Well. I mean…congratulations? On Champion?"

"Thanks. Bit mental, isn't it? I'm excited though. Should be a good bit of fun."

"Sure. Fun," Cho was a bit confused about why everyone had been scrambling to be a part of a dangerous tournament. It just made no sense, and her brain could not make sense of it. "Anyway, I was wondering if you were going to Hogsmeade this weekend? And if you wanted to, um…get that coffee?"

"Thought you'd never ask," he beamed. He had a very contagious smile, and she found herself beaming back in spite of her nervousness. "Meet you in the entry at 11?"

She nodded.

-OooOoOoOoOoOooO-

Cedric was confused by Cho. It was a new feeling. Girls were confusing, sure, and complicated. But he usually knew what was what. It was a gift, if his friends were to be believed. But Cho was confounding him.

They had had a perfectly lovely afternoon in Hogsmeade, and she had agreed to study with him twice since. She seemed happy when she was with him, and laughed at his stupid jokes. She was politely flirty, but that was it. He had no idea what she wanted.

And now, of course, he was going to have to work it out for the sake of this stupid Yule Ball. And soon, since Cho was likely to be asked early. If he wasn't careful, she'd accept someone else before he even got up the nerve to ask. He had cornered her three times already, but had managed to just ask mundane questions each time until she made an excuse and left. He never quite got around to it.

"Cedric, enough. I'm quite busy. We have so much bloody homework right now, I'm not sure how to do it all _and_ sleep. If you've something to say, I'd prefer if you'd just get it over with, please."

Cedric chuckled slightly to hear her swear. It seemed out of place on her pretty face, and he quite liked the disconnect. So much so, in fact, that he seemed unable to stop himself as he inched closer to her in the corner by the tapestry of the cross eyed monk, where he had stopped her after her transfiguration lesson. Again. He just shook his head as she let out an exasperated sigh and said _Cedric_ in the most frustrated voice he had ever heard. He ignored the shock on her face as he placed his hands on her hips, and pressed close, kissing her gently, both sets of eyes sliding closed. Her frustrated sigh turned to a small, shocked sigh of contentment, and he smiled against her mouth, kissing her once more before pulling away. She stared at him, open mouthed, confused.

"Go to the ball with me?" he said, all in a rush.

"Well, _obviously_ , you git," she exclaimed, hitting his chest lightly. "Thought you weren't going to bother asking."

He grinned, and backed away, laughing, not taking his eyes off her until he lost sight of her in the throng of students.

-OooOoOoOoOoOooO-

The ball had been amazing. Obviously. She felt a bit bad for Harry, but not, you know, a lot. In all honesty, she was having a hard time seeing anything except for the fact that Cedric was looking at her, and only her, despite the fact that his deep green dress robes had everyone looking at him, male and female alike. They danced, yes, but that was hardly the point. The entire night, Cedric stayed by her side, subtly keeping in close contact with her right until the last moment. She was a puddle of mush by midnight.

It wasn't that he was particularly interesting; he had no strong opinions, was easy to best in a debate, and was not exactly what you'd call 'passionate'. But she liked that. She was enough of all those things all on her own. Instead, he made everything she said seem valid. He didn't argue like the Ravenclaws, didn't make her feel like she didn't know enough to be talking like Michael always had. He laughed at next to nothing, kept things light and happy. He was hilarious, and everyone liked him. There wasn't an ounce of brooding in his soul, and she was hooked. She just had to work out how to tell him, and she was running out of time. They had climbed the last central staircase, where she was going to have to turn left as he turned right. She went to ask him something, but he beat her to the punch.

"So. I guess I have to leave you here. They don't seem to be letting people into other houses corridors. Did you have fun?"

"Oh goodness, it was gorgeous wasn't it? And the Weird Sisters. I'll be able to tell my kids one day that I saw them live- give 'em something to groan about," she grinned up at him.

"Good. Glad to hear it. But I mean, did you have fun…with me?"

She giggled, "Ought to be careful Cedric. You almost sound insecure. Something we both know you are not."

He grinned the million dollar grin, "Only with you. You know I've liked you for ages right? Since fourth year."

"Creep."

"Your creep, though, right?"

Cho snapped back to attention. She looked at him carefully.

"Do you mean that?"

"If you want me to…yeah," he breathed. "Want to be, like, a thing? We can tell people. And hold hands and stuff. No, wait, that makes it sound lame…"

"It doesn't sound lame. I'd like to be a thing, too, Cedric. Just, um, do me a favour. Let me tell Harry Potter, hey?"

"Not even going to question that," he muttered, as he reached down and kissed Cho Chang for the second of what he hoped would be a million times.

-OooOoOoOoOoOooO-

Sometime right before the second task, Cho had begun hiding from Cedric again. Things had been going well, but she was afraid. She was afraid of how much she felt like things were perfect. She was afraid of how happy she was. No one was supposed to be perfectly happy at 15. Wasn't she supposed to be angry and hating everyone? Wasn't she supposed to be feeling like everything was stupid? Not impossibly happy and perfectly content, and all because of a boy. She didn't like it; it made her feel like she was betraying her intelligence. And more importantly, now she was terrified because her stupid boyfriend was in a ridiculous competition where fighting dragons was an introductory task. She could only imagine, with history books balanced on her lap, how disastrous the second task was going to be. Oh yes, she thought as she sat curled in a ball on the floor. The sordid history of the triwizard tournament promised that the second task would be even worse.

"Cho! There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you," Cedric boomed, his usual manic grin plastered firmly on his face as he burst into the empty classroom where she sat, hiding. He took in the sight before him and seemed to falter, "Cho? Everything-everything okay?"

Cho looked up at him, and tears sprang back to her eyes where she had just managed to put them away, instantly making her angry again.

"Oh for heaven's sake, this is ridiculous. I don't cry."

Cedric laughed lightly and walked closer to her spot on the wall, sliding down to sit beside her.

"Current evidence would suggest-"

"Shut up. You never saw this."

Cedric raised his hands in mock surrender, "Since I'm not seeing anything anyway…want to tell me what's up?"

"It's stupid."

Cedric waited, scooting slightly, decorously, closer to her.

"I just realized this morning…this thing you are doing. It's…well, it's _dangerous_."

"The dragon wasn't enough of a hint of that for you?"

"Shut it, Ced, I'm serious. I was reading about the history of the tournament-"

"Well, there's your mistake."

"Oh hush. What, you're telling me it doesn't worry you, not even a little bit?"

"Cho, what good would that do? I'm a champion whether I worry or not. Might was well spend my time focused on learning what I can, and hope for the best."

This just made Cho angry. It proved exactly what she had been thinking all week.

She sighed, "Ugh….Bloody _Hufflepuffs_."

Cedric laughed again, throwing a light but proprietary arm across her shoulders. She shimmed closer still and rested against his arm as he kissed her cheek.

"Try not to worry, you lovely girl. It's weird seeing you cry. You're always so happy. It's how I noticed you, remember? The happiest Ravenclaw. You lot are all so serious. This competition isn't so bad, after all. There are weird teenagers in our midst, bizarre headmasters. Plus, better food, better decorations, BALLS! We could be having a much harder year."

Cho was not at all surprised that Cedric's happy, booming voice was back after a brief stint of playing sympathetic ear. Frankly, she was relieved. After all, this ridiculously upbeat, never phased attitude was what had drawn her to Cedric in the first place. She knew that some people perceived this part of his personality as arrogance, but she knew better. He was just as insecure as anyone else, but he simply refused to try for less than perfection, refused to let anything get him down for longer than was necessary; it was exuberance, not arrogance. Cedric was full of life, of simple joie de vivre.

She laughed, "Fine. You're right."

"I have to go to Arithmancy. And then I promised Eric I'd help him with his Astronomy after dinner. Come find me tomorrow morning though? Before the task? I need a bit of luck," he winked ludicrously, making her laugh.

"Course."

"No more tears?"

"Not for now."

"Good," he said, pulling her to her feet and kissing her quickly. "Got to run."

The next morning, she went down to the Great Hall to meet Cedric, but was stopped in the Hall by Professor Flitwick.

"Ms. Chang. I need you to come with me. Quickly please. We are late."

"Professor? Is everything okay?"

"Yes, yes, dear. Just follow me please."

She did, and the next thing she knew, she woke up soaked and freezing. Soaked and freezing, but back in Cedric's arms.

She didn't even question it. Clearly, everything was right with the world.

-OooOoOoOoOoOooO-

When the hoopla finally died down after the disaster in the lake, Cedric could only think of one thing. Cho. He couldn't believe that the school would involve her in something so dangerous. The Merpeople were violent, unpredictable. Sure, Dumbledore had assured him- when he had stormed into his office that afternoon- that the people in the lake were perfectly safe, but he didn't know that Dumbledore could be completely sure of that. Thankfully, he had succeeded, and Cho was safe.

Still.

As soon as the champions were released to their houses, Cedric ran up the stairs, begging a Ravenclaw first year to get Cho for him.

"She isn't here," the first year announced, not walking fully back through the door. "I asked around, but no one seems to have seen her."

Cedric sighed in frustration, but thanked the first year and walked away. He was just going to have to find her.

"Cedric, leave her."

He whipped around to find Marietta standing behind him in the library, where he had just found Cho, buried in a pile of homework and tuning out the world.

"What? Why?"

"She isn't angry…it wasn't your fault. But she's a bit freaked out. Just, look, give her the afternoon, okay? She'll be fine, but we are all a bit stressed at the moment. And I think she just needs some time."

Cedric looked mournfully back at the pile of books that just barely revealed Cho behind them, hair up high on her head, brow furrowed. But he nodded at Marietta, and walked back out of the library.

That night, after having spent most of the afternoon pacing the grounds in the bracing cool air, he had a plan. He sent a tiny school owl up to the window of Cho's dorm, with the instruction to not leave until Cho woke up and took the note. He ran all the way to the hidden alcove on the roof North tower to set up.

"Cedric," came a quiet voice five minutes later. "Ced, are you in here? You'd better be. I almost got caught by-"

Cedric looped his arms around Cho's waist silently, whispering, "I'm so glad you are here. Are you okay?"

"Yes," the breathed back, turning around and looping her own arms around his neck. "I'm fine. Hey, Cedric, hey. I'm fine…seriously…"

Cedric, embarrassingly, was unable to talk; there was a lump in his throat, now that she was standing there, holding him, clearly fine, clearly still wanting to see him, not angry or hurt or over him. He pulled back from Cho and looked away. He knew it was stupid to be this relieved, but somehow, he couldn't help it.

"Hey," she said lightly, laughing a little. "It's okay. You saved me! It's fine. I'm sorry about this afternoon…I was just trying to get caught up. Fifth year absolutely sucks."

Cedric let out a breath, sigh, and a bark of laughter all at once, "Yeah, it really does. You'll be fine though. You're brilliant."

"Are you okay?" She said, ignoring the compliment.

"What? Of course I am. _I_ knew what I was getting into…I can't believe they'd involve _you_ though."

Cho looked up at him, noting the anger that was suddenly very real on his face. She hadn't seen him actually angry, possibly ever. It was oddly intriguing. It made her stomach flutter a little to realize that the anger was on her behalf. She pushed her arms closer, her hands in his hair suddenly, shocking him slightly because she rarely initiated contact. She wasn't about to stop here, though. She reached up on her tip toes and pressed a kiss onto the hard line of Cedric's still-angry mouth. She sighed as he returned the kiss, tightening his grip on her waist and pulling her close. Cho opened her mouth slightly and ran her tongue across his lips, waiting for them to part and let her in.

As the kiss intensified, she questioned why exactly they were in the tower in the first place, but she wasn't going to stop to ask right now, especially with Cedric's hands roaming slowly up her sleep top, questioning and slow, leaving a burning trail wherever he touched her. She had never felt like she was sexy, not particularly. People called her pretty, but she didn't feel like that was particularly useful. Here, in this moment, she felt like maybe she could fool herself. She blinked her eyes closed and forced her brain off; she was thinking too much, and she knew she needed to _just feel_. Leaving one hand in Cedric's hair, she moved her own hand down to his shirt, resting on his belly, noting that he was fully clothed, tie, belt, and all.

"Cedric," she whispered. "Tie off."

The tie did come off. As did the belt. At some point, a very short time later, she would wonder how and when she had also lost her own shirt. Sometime after that, she would wonder if this had been Cedric's plan at all. It didn't feel like it, but as her pulse returned to normal, and her breathing stopped racing, she noted that there were many small, magic lights floating around, and that they were lying on the floor, comfortably on a blanket.

"Cedric," she said hoarsely, nuzzling into the crook of his chest. "Why are we in the North tower?"

He looked down at her, resting his chin on her hair, and laughed in a typical Cedric way before replying, "Look up. Clear night. Just wanted to apologize for the task, and it's pretty. Wasn't anticipating, you know, _this_."

She looked up. It _was_ a clear night, the soft spring breeze warm and fresh. The hundreds of stars twinkling above head were beautiful, but her head was so full of astronomy charts that looking at them made her sick. She turned back to Cedric's chest instead, and closed her eyes.

"Ya, me either. But, do you…are you okay?"

"More than. You?"

"Yes. More than."

"Okay."

"Okay," she smiled beneath closed eyes. "Okay."

-OooOoOoOoOoOooO-

The next few months were a bit of a blur. O.W.L.s were suddenly upon her, and she would go days without having time to see Cedric at all. Suddenly, there were only two weeks until the last task, and the examinations were finally over. Hope and sunshine seemed to wash over Cho the first Saturday after the test, and she waltzed right up to Cedric at the Hufflepuff table during breakfast that morning. She inserted herself backward on the bench and kissed him happily.

"Morning. Can you take it to go? Brunch by the lake is in order!"

"Why, hello Cho Chang. I missed you."

"Missed you too. Come on. Outside!"

She grabbed his hand, his toast, and an apple, and skipped her way toward the entrance. Five minutes after sitting down by the tree by the lake, though, Cho realized something was wrong.

"What's up, Ced? You're not…are you nervous?"

Cedric looked at her, almost guiltily, and nodded.

"It just seems a bit too real, now. So close to the end. They won't tell us anything, either, so I just feel…unprepared."

"Oh, come on. You aren't. You're the top of your year. You know as much as you can know. It'll be fine. Can I help?"

"No. I feel bad. You're finally done, and now I'm all distracted. Let's talk about something else. I know! We can make a list. Things to do when the school year is over. Do you have a quill?"

She laughed, but rummaged in her bag and came up with an old, cap-less biro.

"Ooh, muggle. Kinky."

"What?" she said, laughing. "How is that kinky?"

"I'm sure we can find a way," Cedric replied, waggling eyebrows comically. "Okay, where do we start? I can come see you in the summer!"

"Cedric, that will require me telling my parents about you."

"What.…you mean. Well, do you not want to? I told my dad."

Cho sat up quickly from where she had been lying on the grass, "You did?"

"Well, yeah."

"Okay. Um. Cool. Put that first on the list. Cho tells her parents."

By the end of the afternoon, Cho was back to being deliriously happy. Cedric was wrapped around her every limb, and they had a list of twenty things to do. In the future.

The future that she was now convinced contained only Cedric.


	6. When it Strikes You on a Moonless Night

 

Tonks settled into her favourite chair and uttered a world weary sigh; the kind of sigh that last year, or possibly even last month, she would have been incapable of producing. It wasn't in her nature.

Now, her heart felt heavy. Her head hurt. Another in a long line of supremely crap days was weighing her down, and even the comfort of the rooftop alcove wasn't making her feel better. When Sirius had insisted on creating the small sitting space on top of the attic window, they had been confused. Now, she didn't know how she had missed its value. It was her favourite place. The small fairy lights twinkled cheerily at her, and the wicker chair she was nestled into fit her perfectly. She briefly considered that she should go downstairs and make sure someone saw her so they wouldn't worry, but she closed her eyes and breathed deeply again instead. She just needed five minutes; five minutes where she didn't have to recap all the problems they were facing, or plan for tomorrow, or the next raid, or the next investigation. She drew her legs up to her chest, and looked up at the clear night sky in an effort to push back the tears that had sprung to her face. She was just so…exhausted. Already. And if Dumbledore was to be believed, things were going to get much worse before they got better.

It had been six months since Cedric's death. It felt like six minutes and six decades, all at once. It was impossible to know who to trust, and the entire order was living a double life, trying to steal information, and still stay in with the Ministry, and since Tonks was not very good at disguising her intentions, it was taking a toll. Ironic, she always thought, that she was so bad at hiding her emotions and thoughts, considering physical disguise was so simple.

She sighed again. Sighing wasn't a solution, but for now, it _was_ making her feel a little better.

She suddenly heard footsteps on the ladder below her, and jumped up, turning with her wand raised unnecessarily. She almost laughed at herself. It couldn't be anyone dangerous, with the house warded to high heaven, but her work was getting to her.

"Wotcher?" She called down to the dark form, lowering her wand slightly.

"Hello, Tonks," said an achingly well-known voice.

"Oh, hiya, Lupin."

He appeared at the top of the ladder, a plate levitating out in front of him. He looked the same as ever, sweetly rumpled, eyes a bit tired but twinkling, the same slight smile warming his face and forcing her heart to clench painfully.

"Heard you Apparate. I brought you some dinner. Figured if you'd come straight here, maybe you weren't up for the kitchen-full of people waiting downstairs."

Tonks moved forward and took hold of the warmed plate that hovered in front of him. Molly's lasagna wafted through her and warmed her soul slightly.

"Oh," said Remus, digging in his pocket and pulling out a butterbeer. "This too. Right, well, I'll leave you to it. Feel free to come back down when you're ready. I know the warming charm up here is pretty good, but don't get…you know…cold."

Remus looked at his feet and seemed slightly like he was embarrassed, though about what, she couldn't fathom. Mostly because, at that moment, her brain was in full panic mode, desperately trying to find a reason to make Remus stay.

"Remus Lupin," she said with more force and confidence than she felt. "I thought we were friends. Don't you dare make me eat on this rooftop alone."

The small smile that had momentarily disappeared immediately pulled at the corners of Lupin's mouth again as he chuckled. "I just thought you wanted to be on your own."

"I don't...well, I did. No. I mean...Really, I just didn't want to talk about my day. Do you think we can come up with something better to talk about?"

"We can certainly make a go of it, can't we?"

Remus stuck his hands back in his pockets and walked pointedly over to the other armchair on the roof, not taking her chair. She tried not to read into that. And failed miserably. Beaming broadly as soon as she was sure he couldn't see, she refrained from doing a small happy dance at the fact that she had convinced him to stay. Instead, she took her plate and her drink to her comfy chair, settling in with her feet underneath her again, using her knees as a table.

"Love these nights…new moon," Remus said, looking up. "Stars are so bright, and…."

"And no moon to see," she finished for him. "Lupin, I er-"

"Tonks," Remus laughed, looking at her full on. "If we are going to be…friends. Well, don't you think it's time you _actually_ called me Remus? I promise not to call you Nymphadora in return."

Tonks smiled at him, and took another bite of lasagna to avoid answering. She really was starving, and Molly's food was exactly what her day had called for. Naturally. Remus seemed able to fix everything, for everyone, all the time. She kept thinking of the stories Harry had told her of him helping them all while at school. It should have made it easier for her to handle it when he was nice to her, since it was just par for the course.

Instead, anytime he did something even remotely thoughtful, it made her heart beat painfully, and her stomach fell somewhere close to her knees. She screamed at herself inwardly for feeling this way. Her ridiculous crush on him made her feel like a giggling schoolgirl. He was smart. He was kind. Dignified, well-read, careful. All the adjectives that could never be applied to her own personality. She hated herself for falling for him so ridiculously, when there was no way he felt the same way. At first, she had tried to convince herself that it was just because, of the men she was suddenly spending so much time with, he was the only real eligible person for any sort of crush. Sirius was her cousin. Shacklebolt was her boss. Dumbledore was a million years old. Snape was her professor. And Moody…well.

Now though, there was no denying it. She liked Remus Lupin; and it was getting harder and harder for her to pretend she didn't when he was around.

In the midst of this panicked eating so she didn't have to respond, she hadn't realized that they had been sitting in silence. She put down her fork, smiling again, and said, "Fine. Remus it is. You still _may not_ call me that other name."

"Deal."

They went back to silence, but it felt comfortable and companionable now, and she revelled in it happily, glad for the night since her cheeks now felt warm. After a beat, Remus cleared his throat.

"Did you know that I hate spinach?"

Tonks looked at him quickly, and laughed heartily, throwing her head back for a moment until her mother's head was in her ear telling her she looked mad when she did that.

"What?" she managed finally.

"Well, in the absence of asking you about your day, I am rather finding myself at a loss for what to talk about. I figured, as friends, you should know that I loathe spinach. It may be important…one day."

"Hm," Tonks said, pretending to be serious while still being unable to stop giggling. "Yes. An excellent point. Well, in that case…I can't stand the sight of artichokes."

"Dear, dear. Must be an issue, in your line of work."

She wanted to come back with a witty response, but instead, she couldn't bite back the unfettered laughter that hit her once again. She was so tired, and he was so calmly hysterical. He was exactly what she needed.

"Thank you so much for bringing this up here. You were dead right. I needed a minute to myself before getting into it with everyone."

Remus eyed her sidelong, "Well, I honestly should go then. Give you time. We can chat another time."

Tonks looked at him fully, and almost whispered, "Don't."

He paused, and for a moment, they just looked at each other. Just when she thought she was going to be unable to stand it much longer, the intensity of that gaze, he turned away.

"Okay," Remus replied, just as quietly. "Incidentally, I'm glad I stayed. You don't laugh enough anymore; it's been making me…er, all of us…a bit sad."

Tonks had no reply. She felt her face heat even further, and was convinced she was about to burst into flame. These were the things he said, though. He said them to everyone, she was pretty sure. But they felt like so much to her, and she wasn't sure if it was intentional, which was driving her insane. No one, ever, anywhere, spoke to her this way. Most people were just barely kind; they assumed that because she was 'quirky', 'edgy', she only ever needed snippy, sarcastic conversations. Which wasn't true. Everyone needed warmth, once in awhile.

"Remus…"

"Hm?"

"Could I...you know… tell you about my day?"

"I've been hoping you would. It might help."

And so she did. And he responded in exactly the way she had known he would, with cringes at the right moments, murmurs of agreement when needed, sounds of mutual frustration with the Ministry when she recounted some of the more ridiculous statements she had overheard that day. He had even muttered 'I've never liked Puddlewather either. Although, it helps that I know everyone called him 'Piddleweather' at school'. She had sniggered, and felt instantly better.

Just as she had known she would. When she was finished talking about it all, she was torn between feeling unburdened, and feeling more confused than ever. Lupin was toying thoughtlessly with a string from her chair cushion, and the innocent, but painfully close proximity of his arm was making her breath catch. In the fuzzy closeness created by both the fairy lights and the warming charm, she imagined she could almost smell him; cedar and soap and laundry, plus the faint smell of old books. But she was likely imagining it. He seemed to take her silence as a cue for him to respond. He took a deep breath as though preparing himself for something.

"Well, Tonks. I know that it isn't all that helpful to hear it, but I for one am very glad we have someone of your calibre in the Ministry still. I don't know how we would get half the intel we have without you in the Auror department."

"Well.…I mean. Thank you?"

"No need to thank me," Remus answered, smiling fully this time and destroying her ability to remain calm as he stood to leave. "It's just the truth. We had perhaps better get downstairs now, though. They will think something untoward has happened. Or worse, something scandalous. I know you wouldn't want that."

And then he winked at her.

A wink that completely undid her. It was the first overtly playful thing he had ever done in her presence, and she became very aware of the fact that they rarely had time alone like this, almost never had a conversation where they looked at each other intentionally, and definitely never got to the point of flirting. Which was crazy, since all she ever _thought_ about these days was flirting with Remus Lupin until he noticed her. Which is why, now, with that wink, she suddenly remembered that she was actually decently good at this, at flirting. Or at least, she was with the types of men she normally dated. She wondered if the same things would apply. But she decided she had to try, or else it simply wasn't fair; he didn't get to make her a blithering pile of goo without getting his own back.

She stood up, following his earlier gesture, moving very close and whispering in what she hoped was a sexy way, "Oh really? How do you know that scandal isn't _exactly_ what I want?"

Without pause, she reached over to where he was standing, stood on her toes, and kissed his cheek lightly.

"Thanks for dinner, Remus. We should…talk…more often," she said, lingering near his face as she did.

He looked completely at a loss, and she grinned to herself as she turned around. She had finally unbalanced him. It felt like payback, but at the same time, it felt like exactly what she needed. Her head was clear. Her day was forgotten. She felt like there was hope. And that was all she had been needing, after all. Content with her actions, she began to move toward the ladder leading to the attic, but was stopped abruptly by the slightest touch on her arm. She turned back slowly, only to find that Remus was immediately in front of her now, and as he grasped her by the arms, she felt her mouth fall open in what would _definitely_ not be a mother approved expression.

"Oh, Remus, you old fool, you promised yourself. This is a terrible idea," Remus muttered to himself.

She went to respond, but didn't have time. Suddenly, her mouth was engulfed by his, his hands had shifted to her waist, then her hair, then divided between the two as though he couldn't decide. Not that it mattered, with his mouth pressing decidedly and firmly against hers. She shifted once, finding that she needed to be holding him too, and then she lost the ability to think, or move, or react in anyway except to kiss him back. A small voice in her head told her to take advantage, since this may be the only time.

But that was silly, because she had already decided that this was the only thing she would ever be doing from now on. Time spent _not_ kissing Remus Lupin was obviously unnecessary, and should be immediately removed from her schedule. Just as she was deciding this, however, she heard a small groan, and suddenly, Remus was pulling back.

Resting his head on her forehead, he whispered, "Sorry. I didn't mean to…I attacked you."

"Not my definition of attack," she replied, already bereft with him no longer kissing her.

"I know. I just mean. Sorry, won't happen again."

"And why do you get to decide _that_ , hm? I rather think it _will_ happen again. Possibly right now."

"Tonks, don't. You don't want me. I'm old. And broken. And-"

"As I am an adult, I will decide that, thank you. And more importantly, you don't want _me._ I'm a mess. I'm silly and sarcastic and-"

"And completely perfect. So…"

"So."

"You don't hate that I kissed you."

Tonks smiled, still looking directly at his closed eyes.

"Remus, look at me," she implored. He opened his eyes slowly. She responded by realigning their lips and returning to the warm space where she was already happier than she had ever been before.

"So no, then."

"Not even a little. I've been waiting for you to realise that I want you for weeks."

Remus choked a little before laughing. He'd covered it well, but she felt his breath skip around a little from her vantage point of being completely smashed against him.

"Well, we've wasted time then, haven't we? Perhaps I should have listened to Sirius, after all."

"Sirius? Why?"

"He said you had been watching me more than was, you know, necessary. But generally, listening to Sirius is disastrous."

"Disastrous now?"

Remus smiled the same small smile that he always wore when talking to her, and kissed her for a third time, answering that question, and so many more left unasked.

"Well, we had better _actually_ go down now, or someone will come up. But- and trust me, I feel foolish asking this this way, but- Tonks, would you, um, go out with me sometime? Properly. A real date. No Order business, no talk of war?"

"Nah.…" said Tonks, smiling. "Think I'll wait for Moody to ask me."

Remus burst out laughing, and she felt more pleased than she had in months for being the cause of him breaking his stoic calm.

"Of course, Remus. Although, I demand fancy pasta. On this date."

"Deal," said Remus, taking her hand and pulling her close again, pushing her hair behind her ears and stroking her cheek.

"Thought we were going downstairs," she halfheartedly said, at the same time melting into his grasp.

"In a minute," Remus whispered, moving his head, bending toward her again.

"Remus? Tonks?" a voice called from the bottom of the ladder. They jumped comically apart, which made them both laugh. As though they were teenagers, hiding in a cupboard. There was an automatic and unspoken agreement, however, that whatever was happening here on this rooftop certainly did not need to be a topic of discussion for the Order.

Which is why, as Sirius' head popped up at the top of the ladder, all he saw was Remus standing, staring up at a dark, moonless sky. And Tonks, sitting silently, finishing a butterbeer a few feet away.

What he didn't quite catch in the darkness was the broadest grin Tonks had ever grinned, refusing to leave her face.


End file.
